Busting A Move

We’re a week from mom’s big move to Arizona, a week away from our new beginning. Another week of fear, anxiety, doubt.

I wanted to find the perfect place. I’ve toured a dozen care homes between Maine and Arizona. I wanted to keep her in Maine.

But waiting lists are long. No care home is perfect. There’s beauty in imperfection, I’m learning, and perfectionism is a dubious honor.

A cross-country move is challenging for anyone. When I moved to California two decades ago, I traded familiarity for the unknown, rootless and disjointed for months. It won’t be any easier for an 82-year-old woman with dementia.

This I know. Yet the crippling self-doubt diminishes when I let go of fear. I haven’t given up, I’ve surrendered. And in accepting the situation, I’m ready to move on to better things.

In the wise words from a supportive friend: “NO DECISION IS WRONG. ESPECIALLY WHEN OUR HEART LEADS.”

Photo Credit: Larry Tenney (@ltenney1)

New Beginnings

This year, I’m taking my life back. Sounds selfish, doesn’t it?

In reality, I’m just one piece of the puzzle.

The other pieces? My husband. Our marriage. And my mother.

As primary caregiver to a mother with Alzheimer’s, I’ve given up a lot over the years. Career. Life with my husband. Friends. And I’ve given a lot. Time. Compassion. Love.

Now it’s time for a new beginning. The sensory overload of the holidays, combined with subzero temperatures and a marked decline in her abilities make it clear that mom needs more help than I can give.

I’ll move her out west, where I’ve lived for thirty-odd years. It won’t be easy, but we’ll get through it together.

Regaining my life isn’t a resolution, if I live a day at a time. Every day, I try to do a little better.

Every day, a new beginning.